


The Antithesis

by baeyato (Dalliance)



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen, M/M, ayakane - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalliance/pseuds/baeyato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It will explode in your face, and you'll be the only one left in the aftermath." Kaneki never will blame anyone but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Antithesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charami/gifts).



> I started this on a whim because my sister wanted me to write a fic with Kuroneki. Do not expect romance--unless I decide to continue this into a long-running thing. I don't ship them that way, and I'd only see something happening with a LOT of development and time in between (he's underaged, after all). Even then, it wouldn't be blatant romantic or a normal type of relationship. I don't see it happening like that based on how their personalities are.
> 
> This /is/ AU, and does not take place in the Tokyo Ghoul or :re universe. They're all human, and I took liberty with changing backstories to fit with that change. 
> 
> I can't believe I wrote a coffee shop au fic please end me and my cliche suffering

Somehow, he became a babysitter.

Touka never spoke of her home life all that much. She was an expert at listening, much like Kaneki. His attention to other people’s problems rather than rambling over his own is likely the reason he learned anything about the girl.

So he is rather surprised to now be seated in front of her brother, and told to make sure he doesn’t skip out on a bill again by Nishiki. Something about them having to work off broken dishware during the next shift. _Just for a sec, Kaneki—watch that brat._

He never could say no, and now he’s caught in an awkward exchange with a bristling kid who has been glaring at him the entire time. What does he do if they decide to leave—tackle them? Absently, he prods at the lack of muscle in his upper arm, staring at Ayato’s broader, and younger, build.

“Touka-chan never mentioned she had a younger brother.” Ayato is still unimpressed, remaining a vacant statue in their seat. “How…old are you?”

Roll of eyes.

“17. You?” _Ah_ \-- _a highschool student. Didn’t they have school during this time?_

They are still staring, and Kaneki stutters, “--t-twenty-one. Sorry.”

Ayato’s eyes narrow, one half of their mouth curving downward in suspicion.

“ _Huh_ ,” they exhale sharply. “When Touka talked about you, you seemed younger.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah—like a whimpy virgin who hasn’t even held hands with a girl,” Ayato elaborates unnecessarily, palm tucked curved against their neck as they stir coffee and sugar together.

Kaneki presses his glass to his lips, mind swimming with absolutely no comeback.

He is not sure why he says it. Maybe Ayato’s assurance bothers him.

“I actually have a date,” he admits, hoping (maybe) that they will leave him in peace and crash somewhere else. Kaneki enjoys thinking he is a patient person, but he’s nervous with assured people. Every time Ayato opened their mouth, he felt it was an insult even without context or reason.

Ayato does not stir.

“Is she hot?”

Kaneki chokes on his tea, taste of mint and herbs sticking to the back of his itching throat.

“She’s quite beau…” A thin, blue brow of theirs curves upward, and Kaneki’s nerve becomes limp. “—very pretty.”

“ _Beauvery_ pretty,” they mimic in a higher-pitched voice, pressing an open palm into a closed one to crack knuckles. Kaneki almost cracks his own out of habit, but grips the ends of his sweater and watches Ayato pour the entire contents of a cream packet into coffee. “So she’s either ugly or fat.”

“No!”

Kaneki had leaned forward from the desperation to defend Kamishiro, thinking of her long hair tucked away into a neat sidesweep on her shoulder, small smile curving lips, and light shading the delicate angles of her face before she accepted his proposal of a date. Not even once mentioning how dark a shade of red his face had become.

“Kamishiro-san is…” Hands clench, and unclench. “B-beautiful. She is the most beautiful girl.”

Ayato laughs at Kaneki. His mouth curves into a depreciated frown while theirs opens wide full with a neat row of flashing teeth and ill-meaning amusement.

“ _Okay._ So she’s hot. That’s surprising.”

“How so?”

“What kinda’ question--you’re too fucking _nice_ for a hot girl, obviously.”

Kaneki blinks, and watches Ayato stand to leave. Bored by this chat already, it seems. The thought of them leaving bothers Kaneki, when so many questions sling across his mind, their matter-of-fact tone ringing in his ears. _Too nice, too nice, too nice—_

_“Watch the brat for a sec—“_

Ayato is rude, but honest. Touka’s brother would tell him the truth everyone else hides. Another day he might have fooled himself into believing their restraint was out of kindness, but it is uncomfortable. The same as a child being lied to.

“Wait.” He’d stood up, and out of a moment of panic, wrapped his fingers around their wrist. Ayato’s dark eyes rest on the grip, and then slowly climb to peer through Kaneki’s desperate expression. The release is just as quick, because he fears their backlash more than never learning anything substantial from anyone around him.

“Tell me,” he requests. “Tell me what you mean by that before she arrives. Please,” he quickly adds. “Kirishima-kun.”

They shrug their shoulders back, and stare up at the ceiling. The silence eats at Kaneki’s dwindling confidence.

“Ayato,” is the answer.

“What?”

“Call me Ayato.” They plop down again, and Kaneki carefully lowers into his own seat. “Bothering with lasts names when you know my fire-breathing dragon of a sister so well is a waste of time.”

Kaneki is too elated (if confused) that they are helping him to clutch to his manners.

“People like niceness on the surface,” Ayato starts off, staring out the window again as Kaneki hangs on every word, soaking in like a sponge. “They like to pretend the best is really in everyone, but they like the ugly parts more. It’s what they really want. The bad parts they see in people are always the truth, and people like what they already see in themselves. _At least they’re as bad as me, so I don’t have to change_ —that sort of bullshit.”

His brows are pressed together. The theory is flawed, and he wants to disprove them. _Someone so young and pessimistic--_

“Take her to the movies. You can get some that way—no one will see you fuck up kissing her in the dark.”

Skin flushes, and he’s struggling to disagree again.

“K-kamishiro-san wouldn’t like that.” _It’s only the first date—the first date._

Ayato leans back and crosses his hands behind his head. The chair creaks. Kaneki sinks further into his own under the younger’s gaze.

“Kamishiro-san this, Kamishiro- _san_ that,” he repeats. “Does this chick have a first name?”

“Ch-chick? Kamishiro-sa—“

He flicks a sugar cube at Kaneki’s face and the rest of the honorific spills out of their lips like the little white grains now all over their sweater.

“First name,” he states again.

Kaneki’s eye narrow just slightly. “Rize-san and I are not familiar enough for that.”

Ayato’s brows lift. Almost surprised by the steel in Kaneki’s voice. Their arms lock across their chest, wrinkling the fabric of a purple sweatshirt. They bite down on the thin coffee straw in their mouth, pressing their tongue against the inside of their cheek.

“Bullshit. Call her Rize.” Kaneki glances at the group of girls to their left to check if they’d heard Ayato’s dirty mouth. “Girls love that shit and only like to pretend they’re offended. I swear they get off on being disrespected. She’ll go wild if you call her Rize, or at least think you have _some_ balls and might even ask for a second date.”

“I don’t think—“

Eyes almost roll toward the back of his skull when Kaneki begins sputtering excuses on why not to be (over)confident. He turns in his seat and taps a boy on the shoulder. This one sports a row of earrings strapped to one lobe, several other pieces glinting in their eyebrow when they questioningly turn to look at the one who bothered them mid-sentence. Their hair is bleached, and the beginnings of a tattoo glares against their neck.

“Your date doesn’t care about the book you’ve written,” Ayato bluntly states. “She’s been texting under the table the entire time you’ve been yappin’. Just told you a lie where she has to go due to an emergency and you’re still talking her fucking ear off like you have anything interesting to say. No one gives a shit you’re ‘unpublished talent’--and you’re boring.” Ayato reaches over, stealing a packet of sugar from the couple’s table. The girl had buried her phone back into her purse, face reddening and head turned toward her feet.

“You punk—“

Chair legs scrap against the floor. They are very obviously much taller than Ayato, and Kaneki starts to panic when fists begin to form.

“Oh,” he replies in a bored manner, eyes swinging back to Kaneki as their wrist flicks in dismissal. “She’s leaving.”

“W-wait—what--”

The man scrambles up after the retreating girl and leaving any threat they might have had to die between Ayato and the exit. The door chimes twice and Ayato settles again into his seat.

Kaneki clears his throat as Ayato dumps the stolen sugar collection into his coffee. They have not even sipped from it once but seem rather preoccupied to ruin it.

“I don’t see how that proved anything,” he starts off strong, than grows quieter when Ayato’s full attention rests on his face, paling by the second. “I mean.” Cough once, adjust position, pull at sleeve. “You just ruined their date by stating the obvious--”

They snort. Kaneki is thrown off, and stammers, “—it doesn’t mean I should disrespect Kamishiro-san.”

“Excuse me.”

Another girl had approached. Short brunette hair brushing just below her chin, and pretty brown eyes hanging on Ayato expectantly. She tugs at her checkered skirt, pink lips curving into a shy smile. Kaneki taps their leg under the table softly, and yelps when Ayato shoves their foot harshly against his ankle with four times the force.

“I heard you,” he speaks without looking at her. “Whaddya’ want?”

“Ayato—“ Kaneki warns, smile on his face forced and laced with pain.

She is undeterred by the shut-down attitude, stepping closer.

“I notice you come in here every so often, usually by yourself. It’s nice to have company, isn’t it?” This time, she directs a polite grin to Kaneki. He bares his own teeth in what resembles more of a grimace than a smile.

The younger’s eyes follow her gaze, and Ayato’s expression is along the lines of ‘are you fucking serious’?

“So you a stalker, or what?”

Kaneki’s eyes grow as wide as the tea cup plate on the table. She hides laughter under her hand, before taking out a pen. In a bold movement, she lays Ayato’s arm down on the table, scribbling on the back of his hand. Despite the accusation he taped to her face, he does not protest to the number she’s staining his skin with.

“I’m Eri,” she introduces, peering at him through long lashes. “If you want more company, just give me a call.”

That cute smile returns on her face. Ayato says nothing until she disappears on her own to rejoin a group of her giggling friends. The door chimes again.

“So…” Ayato exhales casually, and flexes fingers with inky digits below them.

“Rize-san,” Kaneki attempts. “Do you really think she’d like that?”

Ayato finally cracks a grin. It’s more of a Cheshire smile, and Kaneki is uncomfortable being witness to that sort of knowing expression. It crumbles when they check their phone, rare smile overshadowed by chilling silence. Kaneki preoccupies himself with his tea as Ayato reads, realizing how cold it’s become even filled to the top. Ayato really had distracted him this long— _where is Kimishiro-san._

“That fucking bitch,” they mutter.

Kaneki blinks slowly—realizing Ayato would not be talking about his date, and waits for them to elaborate.

“Are you alright, Ayato-kun? Is it Touka-chan?”

Ayato stares ahead. This time seeming disoriented, and confused. They card fingers through their hair, pulling at the roots above their forehead, and shove the phone back into their jacket.

 _Mhmm_ , is all that comes next. "Why're you wearing an eyepatch?"

"W-what..." Kaneki's finger brush over the fabric taped across his left eye. His shoulders come forward, unconsciously shrinking under their scrutiny of the makeshift bandage.

"Not my business, right?" they interject.

Teeth dig into his lower lip. He hesitates to agree, but they finish for him.

"--so if I don't bother to explain, shut up."

Kaneki swallows words. They both adopt silence, before Ayato clears his throat.

“Girls want to know nice, but they don’t want to date nice. It’s boring. There’s no thrill.” Ayato is blatantly ignoring the tense atmosphere. Finally, they are finished with bastardizing their beverage and shove it in Kaneki’s direction. “Drink that.”

“I’m fine," Kaneki assures in a quiet voice. "Thank you.”

Ayato kicks the chair leg, and Kaneki jumps when glass rattles. His cup almost spills, and the skin of his hands hums against a cooled cup he grapples to steady.

“Drink it.”

Silence sits between them. Ayato’s expression is closed-off, arms crossed, and eyes distant. Kaneki reaches for the cup, thinking to avoid confrontation is best in the end even if he is confused about the random request and their aloof attitude. He sips it, and Ayato knocks it from his hands in a sudden sweep. Glass shatters, and Nishiki is poking his head from behind the counter, probing for a culprit. Kaneki’s shoes are soaked with sugar-saturated coffee, hands shaking as he absorbs the shattered disaster.

“You’re a fucking pussy,” they spit, and shove their chair back. “If you don’t want to do something, you should fucking say so. Learn to say no.”

Confusion wracks his thoughts, twists them into a horrible mess that starts to turn his stomach. He stares at his toes, starts to count the glass on the floor. _What just happened?_

“Ayato--you better clean that up, you brat,” Nishiki complains from the back, setting down a plate to grab a dust pan. They mutter something about telling Touka, and Ayato bites down on his words.

“ ** _Fucking tell her then_** ,”—feet stamping, Kaneki’s vaguely registers a blue head of hair above the pastry display before steps completely fade. All he registers is a sharp, “--not my fucking _job_.”

A muted jingle of the door invades his shock, and then the room is hushed. The only remaining customers are apologized to for the disturbance and offered free drinks.

The glass beneath his feet is slowly cleared. He attempts to help, but is assured and forcefully guided back to his seat. Even after the shards are gone, he continues to stare at the floor.

_“Don’t get involved with Touka’s brother. It’s a waste of time.”_

Fingers draw down his front, brushing away lingering grains of sugar.

_“Just when he starts to make sense—it’ll explode in your face, and you’ll be the only one left in the aftermath.”_

His phone vibrates three times before he notices the text from Kamishiro. He assures her it’s fine if they reschedule, wondering if he’s mistaking the sudden relaxation of his entire body for relief instead of leftover anxiety withering off from Ayato’s storm of emotions in his face. Where is the disappointment? It must be odd to be so relieved. _But it’s understandable._ The teenage brother of one of his best friends just called him a pu—whimp, and broke a glass at his feet for no reason.

He changes her name to Rize in his contact list before tucking his phone away just so he will not think about the blue-haired hothead anymore. What’s done is done. Ayato is gone, and Kaneki has a test to study for.

When he lifts his backpack, a shower of sugar falls to the floor. Enji sighs and sadly stares at the new mess.

Kaneki follows with a string of apologies.

* * *

“ _—it’ll explode in your face, and you’ll be the only one left in the aftermath.”_

* * *

 


End file.
